


blood on his hands and their lives in the balance

by newt_scamander



Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types
Genre: Character Death, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Time Travel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-06
Updated: 2018-08-06
Packaged: 2019-06-22 13:10:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,234
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15582717
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/newt_scamander/pseuds/newt_scamander
Summary: bruce has a chance to change everything.





	blood on his hands and their lives in the balance

**Author's Note:**

  * For [kybercrystalheart](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kybercrystalheart/gifts).



> a little time travel, a little sad, a happy ending. 
> 
> for my gf.

“Master Bruce, if I could have a moment,” Alfred said, standing just outside the playroom. He could hear the boys inside; Dick, Damien, and Bruce were on one team and Jason, Tim and Ace were on another and it was a fierce battle of Cranium, with Jason and Tim in the lead. Somehow, the dog was an asset.   
“Sure thing, Alfred. Dick, I need an updated strategic plan when I get back.” Bruce said, standing up off the couch and stepping out of the playroom. “What can I do for you, Alfred?”   
“Sir, this just arrived addressed to you. I’ve run the normal tests on it and it hasn’t turned up anything suspicious. I thought it best to bring it straight to you- did you notice the address label?”   
Bruce took the parcel Alfred was holding. It was heavy, wrapped with black butcher paper. The label, bearing Bruce’s full name, was not the standard USPS package label. It was a playbill, yellow with age. A playbill for Mark of Zorro, dated September 26th and time-stamped 10:47 pm. The time and date of Bruce’s parents’ murder. A chill went through Bruce, despite the roaring fire in the room just behind him. “Alfred, stay with the boys.”   
Alfred ignored him, following Bruce as he took off down the stairs. The grandfather clock moved to the side to allow them both passage to the cave. “What is this? Who brought this? Computer, show the footage.”   
The security camera footage came up and they only had to watch for few moments to see that no one had brought the package- it had simply arrived on the stoop. Bruce took a breath. “This clearly is a trap. But for me or for Batman?”   
“The address says, Bruce.” Alfred pointed out.   
“I’m going to open it,” Bruce said. “I have to know how this package with this label came to sit on my porch.”   
Alfred started to object but the moment the package fell off, the two of them were transported to Crime Alley. Bruce was suddenly six years old, and fearing the batlike appearance of Zorro, had shared a simple look with his father who had understood and made an excuse. Martha hadn’t complained at all, she had just whisked her big fur coat right over Bruce’s shoulders to keep him from the unseasonable chill in the September air. They had snuck out the side and were deciding where to go or dinner. He remembered everything like it was yesterday.  
But it was happening now. Bruce could hear the sounds of the movie inside, any minute now his mother and father and his six-year-old self would be walking out of the theater- how was this possible?   
“Sir. Where are we?” Alfred asked, squinting at the sign. He had never been to Park Row, before or after the murder of Bruce’s parents.   
“Park Row,” Bruce whispered. “The night of my parents’ murder. This is clearly the work of a time traveler- Epoch. He is behind this.” The mischievous character had been using his chronocube to meddle with the events of time since he first encountered the League but this seemed like a much more personal attack- an attack on Bruce. As soon as he said it, he knew it was true. What was the point of this? What could he hope to accomplish?   
“Sir, do you know- oh! Master Thomas!” Alfred gasped. Sure enough, Thomas Wayne had just stepped out of the theater, his son, and wife in tow. Bruce took a deep breath. He hadn’t seen his father since the funeral. He was taller than him now, more muscled. His father’s mustache had flecks of gray in it, he hadn’t noticed when he was a child. Alfred lurched forward.   
“No, no. Alfred, we can’t interfere. Anything we do could alter the time continuum and change the future. We can’t do anything at all.” Bruce said. Enoch wanted him to see this but he was certain that he couldn’t change the fate of his parents without causing extreme damage.   
“Sir, I don’t think it’s fair of you to expect me to stand here and witness the murder of your mother and father,” Alfred said, watching after Thomas and Martha. They were swinging Bruce between them- they used to do that all the time. Bruce had forgotten.   
“It’s not. It’s not fair that I was six years old and was scared and I made my father leave the theater. It was my fault they were in that alley- my fault that they were killed. It should’ve been me. I could’ve been a martyr for the commissioner to hold up- my parents wouldn’t have left my death go unavenged. They would’ve changed Gotham, they would’ve made a difference. I wish I could go back. I would take it, the bullet, and he would get scared and run away. That’s what he did, then.” Bruce said, trying to hold back tears. He hadn’t cried over his parents’ death in years but it was about to play out in front of him and despite the fact that he wasn’t six years old anymore and had 150 pounds on the man, he wouldn’t be able to change it.   
Bruce watched in horror as the man stepped into the light, holding up his gun, demanding his father’s wallet and his mother’s pearls. His father had given them to her on their ten year wedding anniversary- it didn’t matter. His mother’s fingers had been shaking so badly she hadn’t been able to close the lobster clasp and the string had fallen to the ground, pearls spilling into the gutter. The man had gotten spooked and fired two shots. Martha dropped first and then Thomas- like leaves falling they had dropped, leaving Bruce standing between them, his hands covering his ears. The man was running away, dollar bills flying behind him.   
Bruce took a breath. It was done. It was done- his parents were dead a second time. They were dead and he was alive and he would make Gotham a better place in their memory. For his boys.  
Dick, Jason, Tim, and Damien- they gave his life purpose. He looked at the six-year-old boy on the ground, pleading with his mother to open her eyes, for his father to stand up. Bruce could’ve changed it. He could’ve stopped the robber. But if he had, everything would’ve changed. He would have blood on his hands, he would’ve held the lives of his boys in the balance. Thomas and Martha had lived their lives- now it was time for Bruce and his boys to live theirs.   
“Let’s go home, Alfred,” Bruce said, picking up the package. He only had to wait a moment- they were back in the Batcave the moment Alfred had touched his elbow. No time had passed. He checked the security footage of the playroom- Dick and Jason were bickering over the rules of charades and Tim had started reading out the official rules while Damien was spinning a switchblade between his fingers. Nothing had changed. His boys were still there.   
He passed the package to Alfred. “Destroy this. I’ll take care of Epoch in the morning.” Bruce said. “I have to go finish the game.”   
Alfred nodded. “Yes, Master Bruce. Thank you- for reminding me what is important. I think they would be proud of you. A wise decision.” Alfred said, taking the package.


End file.
